Darkness Was All Around Me
by LameyDovey
Summary: Written from Draco's PoV. This OneShot is on his view on some events of HPHBP. Thus, it is not AU at all. Please read&review! hinted DmHg. reposted fic


**NOTE: CONTAINS HALF-BLOOD PRINCE'S SPOILERS. Don't read if you do not want to spoil the fun reading Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince (which is a _great_ book, by the way).**

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

**A/N: **Please Enjoy…

**Darkness was around me.** It didn't matter if I opened my eyes or not. I doubted I could see anything beyond the inky blackness all around even if I tried to stare through it for hours.

No, it didn't matter.

I didn't want to see anything else anyway. I didn't dare to see what the real situation out there was. I wanted to grip tight to what my mind felt and saw right now. I guessed that spelt cowardice for me, not daring to face reality.

Why, I truly had been called a coward by some people. Like in third year, Vince Yesturn, a family 'friend' who's about the same age as me, visited us at the Manor that summer. He taunted me about how weak I was.

"Can't even stand up to Harry Potter and his gang, Malfoy? I heard that Potter's _Mudblood_ friend even punched you right in the face, huh. What do you think the Dark Lord would need your help for, then? To watch you getting punched and defeated by filthy Mudbloods and all you could do was make up a horrible, scared face?" He sniggered. Then, with a malicious sneer, he added, "I don't think so."

How he got the news, I would never know. But I knew I was seething with anger then. It was the sort of dark anger that nearly blinded me of what I should not do. _Nearly_.

Firstly, he was in no position to speak to me like that. He fared lousily in school (Durmstrang), making his knowledge of Dark Arts lower than mine. Hence the anger that made me feel like using my Avada Kedavra (although at that age of thirteen, my Avada Kedavra could barely kill a dog).

But the next reason was more sickening. I hated him knowing that I was punched by 'Potter's Mudblood friend'. _The_ Mudblood. Yes, I could now admit that I did not feel much disdain for her, no. The façade I wore in front of her, though painful, were essential. Who knew what would happen when _everyone _knew about my crush on her. No, not crush – love.

Sighing, I placed a grime-coated hand on my face, feeling frustrated at what I was feeling in my mind.

Well,_ love_ is a strong word. I never used it on anybody. Not counting my mother. But of course, she was so kind and loving to me, how could I refuse her of my love? The point was that I seldom felt love. Not until she came along, breezing past me during the Yule Ball when we were fourteen.

At fourteen only, and she was already looking like a goddess. The simple, elegant features of her face could stun any guy and send them drooling for hours. (Though, fortunately, I was blessed with more self-control.) Since that night, I could barely keep my mind off her.

Yes, a strong infatuation started at my first sight of her, before learning about her blood. It was pitiable – wrong word, I meant devastating. Everything about her could make me eligible to like her… but just her blood. It's just like the Muggle blood types. A, O, AB, whatever. We couldn't change them. So we must learn to let them be.

And I tried. That night after the Yule Ball, with Pansy Parkinson lying beside me on the Slytherin couch, my mind just focused on that one angel.

I reasoned, debated, fought, and then debated again with myself for that whole night, just lying there with a girl I didn't give a damn for. Just how much did I care for a stupid (translation: clever) Mudblood like her?

The answer? Ha, you know it.

But I gradually grew strong. The trainings my father asked his Death Eater friend to give me were producing satisfying results. Not only did I _feel_ strong, I really became strong enough to resist many mind-controlling spells.

So I controlled those thoughts about her.

At least, I tried.

Even though I knew it was impossible.

It was just futile. Success rate was zero or maybe even some kind of huge negative value. Because, if anything, I felt more attracted to her.

Then there came along another obstacle between me and her, her friends. Her allies. Merlin, I hated them. And it was not simply the normal hate that you yelled at your friends or siblings every other day. My hate was, alright, quite simple, but deeper. Much deeper. I hated Potter for what he was. Boy-Who-Lived. _The_ Chosen One. What I was trying to say was: Potter wasn't worth that much crap. He's just a half-blood. Why was he given all the attention and credits when he did not even possess knowledge as great as her muggle-born friend? Nor did he have the power to use advanced Dark Arts like I did.

And not to forget, he was the sole reason for my father's capture. My father had been great to me. I could not tolerate the fact that that boy threw such a great man like Lucius Malfoy into prison.

Then there's another boy in the company of Potter and my angel. Ronald Weasley. Yeah, I'm talking about that red-hair git. I was taught to look down on blood traitors. They did not deserve whatever they had – their blood – because they did not respect it. That made him an enemy too, right from the very start.

By the way, Weasel and the female member of their trio seemed to get closer year by year. And… I didn't want know what to make about that. But I did. I knew what was going on between them, even if they didn't. However, if he dared to enter a relationship with her… he shall be the first one to die when the Dark Lord ever let me out and help him again.

These two boys were my enemies from the very start. Yet, they were all around her. She was in the protection of them. Not to mention everyone else in the Right side.

I was, quite weirdly, tempted to be a member of the _Right_ side. Just to be with her. But I was tied down to this place… to remain forever with the Dark Lord.

Contrary to popular beliefs, I _did_ like Dark Arts and probably would never give it up because it was _so_ fascinating. It gave people more power than anything else. And I liked to use certain Dark/Illegal spells. Even if the girl I loved was… someone who would never love me back for what I liked.

I was brought up this way – to like Dark Arts. Moreover, now, at the age of sixteen, I really couldn't change the past sixteen years of grooming I had. No matter if she didn't like it.

This whole issue on her and Dark Arts… had all my feelings jumbled up. It's so confusing and unnerving. I wished I could draw up a table and list out all of the pros and cons of this very subject and then conclude the whole thing. But, no, I would not open my eyes to draw the desired table. I didn't have the materials to write, anyways.

Then out of the blue, the scene back in Hogwarts replayed in front of me as my passions swirled into a blur and was gradually reduced to nothing. Just like the flushed water going down in the toilet bowl.

"_Good evening, Draco."_

_I stepped forwards, glancing around quickly to check that we were alone…_

Then the confrontation followed. That was a literal mind-blowing experience. Because at that very moment when I saw Snape barging into that tower… I knew everything would change even more so than when I first received my mission.

Nevertheless, what I regretted most about that fiasco was both the death of Dumbledore and her.

I remembered Dumbledore saying that he could help me. That he would take me and my family under his wings of protection. That made a huge dilemma for me. I suddenly did not want to be under the Dark Lord anymore. And he became the second reason why I was tempted to join the Right side. (More importantly and frighteningly, I suddenly found myself starting to feel disgusted by Dark Arts…) But some invisible vine held me tight into place.

The Dark Lord's threat.

It was a given that he did not say it out loud. He seldom would say such things in clear words. All he did was simply throwing me a few words of _caution_, like: "Young Malfoy… do remember that life is fairly delicate… including yours and your parents'… so be careful and make very sure that you succeed."

That was it. I _must_ kill Dumbledore…

Sadly, the stressed _must_ did not help strengthen my resolve. As time drew by during that last confrontation with Dumbledore, I could feel my wand lowering, tiny bit by tiny bit. I could even feel the vines that held me to the Dark Lord slowly losing its effect, although it was still menacing.

But I just could not say those hated words.

_But Father and Mother…_ I told myself, _be brave and firm for them._

I was never so frightened before, honestly. The prospects of me failing my task due to lack of determination and courage or joining forces with the 'right side' seemed to spell either death or sufferings for me and my family. But still, the latter option was a little more appealing than the former.

Whatever choice that I might have made then, I didn't have a chance to make it. Because my so-called 'allies' came to my 'rescue'. In the end, Snape did it. And I would not say that I was relieved about that.

I was feeling everything but relief.

I felt happy for not having to use the damned curse myself; sad for the loss of an extraordinary wizard; angry at myself for not being able to do things properly; confused at what might happen from then on; and lastly, there was a sense of great loss… I thought I was going to give up and quit my mission… and join Dumbledore. Before Snape came into the picture. But along with the death of Dumbledore, that option died together with him. Then, even though the Dumbledore ordeal was over, I wasn't relieved. Instead, I was even more compelled to get ready for tougher times ahead.

That was my time to leave, with Snape guiding me.

And that was my last time in Hogwarts since. The last chance to actually see my beloved.

I remembered the visions of smeared blood on my hands while we were fleeing from the scene. It was as though I killed Dumbledore myself.

And I did. I killed Dumbledore with the ingenious plan I came up with. Thinking back, I should have told him about my troubles. I should have known that he could help anyone with anything. I should have known.

Ahh… that's the small story of me, I realized. A life of things that I wished I had but could never attain…

I wondered how I could live with all these memories and feelings. But immediately, an answer came up to me by itself. As if it were attached to the end of the question. I saw her face yet again in the sea of darkness and troubles.

The beautiful, everlasting image of her. The cheery, intellectual side of her. _My_ (memory of) Hermione Granger, kept close to my heart.

Suddenly, I felt a jerky movement from my heart. Then… realisation dawned on me. It was just a shock. My slow-reacting brain processed information and I realised another thing: I was shocked by a sudden, soft, shuffling sound coming from a distance.

Pulling a corner of my lips higher up a side of my filthy cheek to form a smirk, I bemused at myself. Had I been held captive here for so long that my ears got too used to the ringing silence and brain too numb to react quickly to the outside world?

Slowly, I raised my head from my smelly, dirty hands and, if possible, opened my eyes at even slower speed soon after.

Everything came to me in a blur.

There was an orange light before me, and it was coming faster and faster at me as it grew larger and larger. Weirdly, it did not feel like I was going to meet my maker. I read in novels that when people were dying (like me), they would see a long black tunnel stretched out in their front. At the end of it would be a bright light shining at them. Beckoning them forward. But it just did not feel like that was it.

So I skipped to my next possibility. Maybe it was an angel coming for me. A muggle-born angel, no less. I pictured her gorgeous brown eyes. Those special eyes with many complicated auburn and black streaks in them. I imagined her face, the high cheekbones and her shapely lips. Progressively, the features became one person in the light, and I thought I saw her. I thought it was, like, a grand phenomenon.

But the orange light was coming on too fast. Out of a sudden, the blur light started to form shapes with clearly defined lines. Just behind the light that seemed so small now, was a squat little woman with slightly visible streaks of caked blood on her black robes. After blinking furiously and attempting to rub my lethargic eyes with the back of my dirty hand, I finally made out who this women's face resembled.

"Alecto." I said in a rusty voice that even I thought was unrecognizable as mine, and strained to look behind her. Then, with a frowned forehead, I recognized yet another Death Eater's face which looked just as tired and worn as the women's. "And Amycus."

"Get up, Draco."

**End note:** Any areas to improve on? Please suggest or comment on something…

Yeah, a cliff-hanger ending! I never liked to read a story with a cliff-hanger ending but… I guess it is more mysterious without a proper, clear ending. Thus, this will probably remain a One-Shot.

By the way, the two-sentenced scene was adapted from _Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince_ (First Edition) Page 546. I'm not sure if this sort of adaptation is appropriate on fanfiction (dot) net, though.


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